


Food for Thought

by Melodious329



Category: Leverage
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-19
Updated: 2011-04-19
Packaged: 2017-10-18 09:03:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/187229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melodious329/pseuds/Melodious329
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When things start spinning out of control, everyone has their own way of bringing a little order to their lives.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Food for Thought

**Author's Note:**

> Set sometime in season three
> 
> Disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue

Nate watches Eliot in his kitchen, the ubiquitous coffee mug in his hand with its questionable contents, a secret everyone knows. He wonders sometimes how things got to where they are, how he became a drunk, a thief, how he became the parent to a group of parentless adults, how he lost Sophie…

Nate admitted a lot of things on the day that he was arrested, he needed Sophie, he respected the team, loved them as family, he was a thief. But after he got out, it became clear that Nate was never gonna be the kinda guy to jump through all the hoops Sophie wanted. And she discovered that she needed a guy who was willing to do that for her.

But he still needed her, the team needed her and he needed the team to be there for him, to do what they did. He’s still confused about how this thing with Eliot began.

Things were stressful when it started, they always are but the cons were getting more risky, and then there was the constant shadow of Moreau. Eliot is quiet, he doesn’t push Nate, doesn’t question Nate except when it count, for the team, the con. When all the others leave with their noise and their toys, computers and locks and recently purchased shopping bags, Eliot stays, looking like he just can’t be bothered to get up and leave. He sits on Nate’s couch reading, his hair loose and wearing his glasses. Eliot is comfortable in Nate’s space and so is Nate.

It started really as Nate might have suspected, if Nate had ever given a thought about such a thing. One night when things weren’t calm, when Eliot was questioning Nate, getting in Nate’s face about putting the team in danger. Eliot whined about himself being hurt, but he got angry about the other team members being in real danger. Sophie had long since stopped protecting Nate from Eliot’s anger, not because she and Nate were no longer more than friends, but because they were a family, she knew Eliot wouldn’t hurt Nate but Eliot did need to feel he had had his say.

So everyone else had left and anger had turned to passion. Nate had tried to control everything and Eliot hadn’t let him. They ended up on the floor, Nate still wearing his shirt hanging on by one button while Eliot was naked, straddling Nate as he sunk down on Nate’s cock using spit for lube and a condom Eliot carries in his pocket. Nate kept trying to buck up, roll Eliot over onto his back, but Eliot rode him like a horse, moving with him and thwarting his every attempt. When Eliot came with his head thrown back, chest muscles glistening and abs spasming, Nate found that he could give up a little control.

Oh, but Nate definitely remembers those horrible seconds of awkwardness as their breathing slowed, Nate knew Eliot would get up, get dressed, leave and never mention it again, and Nate found himself inviting Eliot to stay. Frankly the whole thing was so easy. Yeah, they both had odd sleeping habits, sometimes Eliot would be gone all night, sometimes Nate would keep drinking til he was drunk, but there was companionship there that Nate had been missing.

Plus Eliot was a much better cook than Nate. But tonight isn’t a night that Eliot should be cooking, Hardison and Parker are on the couch behind Nate still arguing over who had made the mistake in the con while Sophie massages her temples. Eliot had been arguing too as they had walked up to the apartment, but had given up in favor of going over to the kitchen.

Eliot likes to cook for the team, has cooked most nights since they moved from an “office” into Nate’s apartment, but late nights after a con when Eliot was hurt and complaining they normally ordered takeout. Eliot may have joked about growing his own food, but really Nate knew that there was a list of places that Eliot had checked out.

Nate knows Eliot doesn’t like to send the team home hungry after a difficult con, but they just need some kinda food quick, not a gourmet meal. Sighing, he heads over to the hitter, putting his coffee down on the counter.

“Eliot, let’s just order some takeout,” Nate says quietly, not wanting the rest of the team to now weigh in on their dinner choices.

“No,” Eliot growls back. It’s obvious he’s strung as tight as a bowstring. “How are we going to get to Moreau?” Eliot asks, the change of topic catching Nate off guard. But Eliot keeps talking seeming not actually expecting Nate’s participation in the conversation. “They could get hurt Nate. I can’t be everywhere and if Hardison,” Nate’s eyes widen as Eliot viciously chops a piece of an onion when saying the hacker’s name. “If Hardison drops the ball like that with Parker inside again…” Eliot shakes his head, not voicing what Nate knows is Eliot’s worst fear.

“Ok,” Nate says placating, and Eliot growls in response. “Just stop cooking, Eliot,” Nate’s voice sharpens. “I need you ready for the next con, not making your shoulder worse by chopping chicken tonight.”

Eliot turns stiffly, his eyes angry and face set, he’s still holding the knife. Nate knows Eliot’s about to say something scathing when Hardison’s voice cuts in.

“Hey, y’all aren’t…having some kind of lover’s spat back there, are you? Because I do not need to be here for that…”

“Spat?” Parker pipes up. “They’re spitting back there? Is this like one of those testosterone things like peeing in the snow?” she asks looking toward Sophie who rolls her eyes, deliberately not looking at Nate and Eliot.

Nate takes a step back, removing the hand he doesn’t remember placing on the small of Eliot’s back. If Eliot wants to cook, he’ll just let him cook. Picking up his coffee, Nate goes to sit in the other armchair while Eliot goes back to the chicken.

***

Eliot’s vibrating like a cheap motel bed by the time they make it back to the hotel room that they’re staying in. He hates being away from Boston. Maybe he’s becoming too domesticated, too used to having an actual home with an actual partner and a team, but when he worked alone, he always made sure to get a room with a small kitchen. Hell, even when he was in the woods and the deserts and the jungle, he was making his own food, especially then.

It’s not just that he’s paranoid, he knows that no one knows them in this town, that his enemies have no way to suspect that he’d be here and they’ll be gone again by the time anyone could know, knows that Hardison may be flaky but he always covers their tracks. The team doesn’t understand how his fingers itch.

When Eliot first started cooking, it was to get girls, and even guys appreciated it. But in the service, food was more necessity than fun, food was another tool to keeping Eliot fit and able to do his duty, to protect himself and his unit. And then after Eliot was captured for the first time…

Food was the first thing taken away in every prison Eliot had seen the inside of, an easy way to make the prisoner uncomfortable, weak, pliant. Suddenly food was this reverent thing, dreamed about and hoped for in the toughest times. When he got out, food had become a tool to make him healthy, a privilege, a means of self-comfort. Making his own food reminds him that he is in control again. And making food for the team is a way to nourish them, to comfort them, strengthen them and keep them safe. It allows him to feel like he’s doing everything he can for the team, giving them every advantage.

But he feels out of control now, like his ability to take care of the team is slipping through is fingers. He knows that to catch Moreau they all have to take risks, not just him. That and the grueling pace they’ve been keeping are sapping his energy, his strength. He just hurts.

If he could just make them all a decent dinner, get some nutrition. He would feel better about everything else.

Eliot practically jumps as Nate lays a hand on his arm. His senses are blurred by his exhaustion, too much stress, too many fights, too many injuries that his body is trying to fix. It scares him, that he could hit one of them, could hit Nate for just trying to get his attention.

“Eliot, we need…” Nate starts.

“Why do we always stay in these awful places” Eliot grumbles, waving his arm at the room in question. “Just because Sophie likes these overpriced tourist traps…I need more than an in room bar, Nate! Some of us need actual food.”

“Eliot,” Nate says with a frustrated sigh. “We don’t have time to worry about our living arrangements. We’ll order some food but we need to…”

“I can’t eat any more of that crap. It isn’t food. It’s made entirely of chemicals. I need something nutritious…”

“What do you want from me, Eliot?” Nate snaps. “What is it that you want me to do? You want Hardison to get you a different hotel? Fine,” Nate’s already searching in his pockets for his phone in his pocket. They all took out their earbuds after agreeing to meet later.

Eliot glares at Nate’s attempt to mollify him. Nate doesn’t get it, none of them do. None of them realize how different he is, how different what he does is to what they do. They can just keep going and going cause it’s not like Nate’s big brain is gonna get muscle fatigue from all the firing of those neurons. It’s not like Hardison’s eyes are gonna get tired of squinting at that damn computer screen, kid probably can’t see the real world at this point. It’s not like Parker’s sticky fingers are getting cramps or Sophie’s lips are going to go numb from all that talking.

Growling in frustration, because Nate is supposed to be the one that knows about Eliot’s job, Eliot turns away, but the room seems to keep turning. He sucks in a sharp breath, feeling light-headed, like his heart skipped a beat…

***

Eliot wakes slowly, his body feeling heavy, bruises making themselves known but so does the soft mattress he’s lying on.

He’s taking stock of the last things that he remembers when he hears, “He’s awake!”

It’s Parker and it’s accompanied by a sharp poke to his bruised ribs. A groan rumbles out before he can stop it and Eliot reluctantly opens his eyes.

Parker is coming back into the bedroom, leading Sophie and Hardison. It’s weird and embarrassing to be lying there in bed being stared at, definitely out of the ordinary for his frequent injuries, and Eliot sits up, breathing slow as his head spins a little.

“Hey,” Sophie says, sitting on the other side of his bed. She’s using that maternal voice on him and that’s weird too because she is definitely not his mother. “Just lie still.”

Eliot rolls his eyes but doesn’t get out a retort when Nate comes into the room carrying what looks like a glass tumbler with some kinda cloudy liquid in it.

Nate’s small smile at seeing him awake has Eliot ducking his head to hide his own pleased expression. It’s nice to be cared about even if he doesn’t want to be coddled. It’s nice to be wanted.

“You’re up,” Nate says unoriginally. “I got you some soup.”

Eliot looks again at the tumbler with a dumbfounded expression. It’s a nice gesture, simple instead of making Eliot feel stupid and incapable. But still…“Nate, I don’t want to drink a tumbler of MSG. I still want some decent food. I want to make some…”

“He made it,” Parker pipes up.

If Eliot was confused before, now he’s worried he woke up in an alternate dimension. Oh god, he’s spending too much time listening to Hardison…

“Man, you should see it. We’ve got like a Bunsen burner out there with a single pot. He really did boil the chicken and vegetables,” Hardison speaks up.

Eliot looks at the glass again, his expression softening as his eyes sink down to the blanket covering his lap. “Y’all don’t understand. I need to make it myself. It’s about…”

“It’s about control,” Nate says sincerely. “But how ‘bout this time you let us take care of you.”

Eliot looks up into Nate’s stormy blue eyes. He knows what Nate’s doing, talking without talking, telling him that he can accept comfort without making it a big thing, without it having to change anything.

With another grumble about Nate’s cooking skills, Eliot takes the tumbler. He supposes being the best retrieval specialist is about knowing what’s an acceptable risk, and as he looks at Nate’s smile and hears Parker questioning Hardison and feels Sophie’s cool hand brushing back his hair, he thinks this risk is worth it.


End file.
